Last day of August . . . sitting at the edge of the woods on the “thinker’s bench,” looking down on Siglin’s Pond— a small body hidden by trees and bushes heavy with red berries— its water full and healthy under a sky layered in a low ceiling of puffy clouds. Lilies in full bloom float close to shore—leaves on the surface bobbing gently in the small currents made by the wind. They appear as party guests, moving in and out of conversations, circulating slightly, as if looking for possibilities. At my foot is a devil’s paintbrush; beside it— another small daisy-like flower. Wryly, I wonder what kind of gossip would they share with each other, seeing as they live in the same neighborhood? That is of course, if wild flowers could talk to each other. If so, they would be like housewives gossiping over a fence—that is, if there was a fence. Would the conversation be different from the water lilies some yards away? Their respective lives, after all, would be understood from different perspectives. I realize it’s time I stir from the “thinker’s bench,” and move on to less esoteric thoughts somewhere deeper in the woods. Poem by T.P. Bird T.P. Bird is a retired industrial drafter/designer and minister. He has published in a number of journals and is the author of a chapbook, Scenes and Speculations (Finishing Line Press), as well as three full collections: Mystery and Imperfection (Kelsay Books); Somewhere Beyond the Body (Wipf & Stock/Resource); American Narratives (Turning Point); A Loose Rendering (Golden Antelope Press). Bird lives with his wife, Sally, in Lexington, KY.